Black Shoe Polish
by rellimmes
Summary: Boots has his first encounter with racial discrimination. For Black History month, rated T to be safe.


**Boots has his first encounter with racial discrimination. For Black History month.**

**Black Shoe Polish**

"Where da youse wanna go for ya birthday, Snipeshooter?" Boots asked as he, Les Jacobs and the boy in question walked down the street. As anyone could tell, it was Snipeshooter's 11th birthday, and after a long day's work of selling papers the three friends were eager to finally act their age and have fun.

"Isa dunno," Snipeshooter drawled out, taking a long puff of his cigarette and blowing it out nonchalantly. "Racetrack wanted ta takes me ta Sheepsted, but he backed out at da last minute. Something 'bout a giorl named Rosemary."

Les frowned and shrugged his shoulders, looking up and down the sidewalks as they went. "Well, you know older people; they always don't have time for little kids like us. What about Medda's Theater?" Boots shook his head. "She's outta town. Jack says he an' Sarah caught her last show before she skipped. He said something 'bout her not bein' back until next week."

"We can't leave off our plans until then!" Snipeshooter groaned, stopping next to an abandoned shoe shining station and slumping down upon it, miserable. "How's Broadway sound?"

"No, deys ain't gonna let street rats like us in," Les replied disheartedly.

"What about da flickers?" Snipeshooter asked. "Anything good showin'?"

Boots and Les both shook their heads. "Nothing I'd like to watch," Les frowned. "Mom and Dad went to see the only one playing; I think it's called _How Would You Like to Be the Ice Man_? They said it's for adults." Snipeshooter grinned. "Dat's nova stopped us before," he smirked slyly. Boots smacked the newsboy across the back of the head, thoroughly horrified. "Are youse crazy? Last time we did dat we all had nightmares for weeks! Youse don't remember anything."

"All Isa remember was da fine lookin' dame in Act Three," Snipeshooter grinned, but quickly stopped once Les shot him a disgusted look. "Ewe 'Shooter, dat scene was nasty!"

"Deys only kissed!"

"Exactly!"

Snipeshooter was about to argue, but he stopped once he realized who he was talking to. He sighed and fanned himself with his hat. "Isa guess ya right guys- da movies are outta da question. What else is dere? Dere's gotta be something!"

The newsies brainstormed for a few more ideas (with Snipeshooter rejecting them all) before Boots spied a half empty can of shoe polish and a brush. Smiling slightly, he took it up in his hand and looked it over. "What's that Boots?" Les asked curiously. "It's an shoe shinin' kit," the boy replied, testing out the brush bristles on his own boot. "Still new too. Da guy who bought dis must've made some real money ta buy supplies dis nice. Dat brush alone costs a dollar."

"Whoever threw dat kinda dough away has ta be crazy," Snipeshooter remarked. "Oh, you'd be surprised how many guys in da shinin' business go through only half a can 'o' polish," Boots replied casually. "I knew 'o' da guy on 5th an' Lexington who went through five cans a week an' only used em' once. Isa got most 'o' me polish off im', no charge."

"You were a shiner?" Les asked in awe. "How'd that happen?" "My ma an' younger sister needed money aft' Pa left us," Boots told the littler newsie. He didn't seem to be upset with talking about his past. In fact, he was almost happy to share. "Ma worked in da factories whenever she could, but ya know how it is; too dangerous, 'specially with two kids ta feed. So she sent me ta work. Made more dat way in a week den she did in a month." He puffed his chest up proudly. "We were livin' da dream. At least until she got polio. Died within 3 weeks. Da doc said it was rare for anyone ta die from it. Isa guess my family got lucky." He spat out the word 'lucky' like it was poison.

Snipeshooter stiffened. His entire family had contract the disease and killed everyone, himself excluded of course. He knew what it was like to lose someone. "Geez Boots, I'm sorry for bringin' it up," he apologized. "Youse nova said anything."

"Naw, it's ok," Boots waved him off. "Forget it. Isa ova her dyin' an' all anyways. Plus, Isa still got me sister. She lives in Queens with da nuns. Isa visit err' every couple weeks."

"Isa didn't know ya had a sister," Les said. "Why isn't she a newsie?" Boots shrugged. "Isa don't want her growin' up on da streets with her childhood stolen like Isa did. She's still little- let err' enjoy it as long as she can." Both of his friends nodded silently. Childhood was a precious thing, and most of the newsies in Manhattan who'd had it taken away so young wished they had it back.

The boys continued talking and eventually moved onto more pleasant topics, Snipeshooter's birthday plans forgotten. No one really cared anyways; besides, it was rare that anyone had time to talk freely anymore. It felt good to enjoy it. Suddenly, around thirty minutes after their conversation began it stopped abruptly with a man walking up to them. He was a tall, big, round man, complete with an expensive black suit, golden watch and Southern drawl. The man obviously came from wealth. Shoving Snipeshooter off the shining chair rudely, he presumed to sit down upon it and prop his feet up on the stool in front of him, narrowly missing Les's head. All three newsies stared at him in amazement.

"Shine my shoes boy," the man demanded, taking a cigar (whose smell reminded Snipeshooter of Cuba) out of his coat pocket and lighting it up. Les coughed. "Come now, I haven't all day."

Boots continued to stare at the business man. "Youse talkin' ta me?"

The man looked down loftily at him. "Why of course I'm talking to you, boy! You're a Negro, aren't you?" Boots blinked, glancing down at the polish in his hand. "Well yeah, but-"

"Then get to it!" the man snapped, spittle spraying all over Boots' face. "I'm due for a meeting on Wall Street this afternoon, and I'll be a monkey's uncle if I don't look the part!"

"But Mr," Boots tried to explain, setting down the polish to talk to him. "Isa ain't a shiner. I'm a newsie, so Isa don't shine shoes-""Of course you do boy!" the man roared. Snipeshooter and Les jumped back, startled. "Must I spell this out to you? You are a Negro! I am a white man! I am above you, therefore YOU-SHINE-MY-SHOES!"

Boots held his ground, however reluctant he was to do it. This man was a white supremist, no doubt about it, and Boots knew he was vile, but he also scared him to death. The boy was practically trembling. Mr, Isa ain't youse personal servant, an' Isa certainly ain't gonna shine ya shoes if Isa don't gotta do it. Now, dere's many a shiner down da street if youse would just take a look-"

"Are you deaf!?" the man shouted at him. By now he was drawing attention to himself from a couple people passing by, but for the most part people did nothing. "I AM SUPERIOR TO YOU! YOU ARE A GOOD FOR NOTHING, BLACK SCUMBAG WITH NOT A PENNY TO YOUR NAME! NOW SINE MY SHOES! You Negroes are all the same, gaining your freedom and now thinking you can just do whatever the heck you want! Why didn't youse just stay on your plantation where you belong-"

By now Boots was on the verge of tears. He opened his mouth to say something, but the man was in full rant mode, not listening to anything or anyone. Les took his friend's arm and pulled him to his feet. "Come on Boots, let's get outta here," he said. "We don't have to listen to this crazy." Boots nodded and took off down the street with his friends, doing the best he could to block out the man's shouting. "DON'T YOU WALK AWAY FROM ME YOU-"Then all of a sudden it was over, and then the boys were out of earshot and sight. It was then that Boots began to cry. They were silent tears, but tears nevertheless.

"Why'd he have*sniff* ta say all dat *sniff*stuff?" he asked his friends in between sobs. "Isa didn't *sniff* do nothin' *sniff* ta im'-"

"Aw Boots, don't pay dat lunatic any mind," Snipeshooter consoled. "He's just one 'o' dem losers with ties down south, still remembers da slavery nonsense an' such. He's a drunken jerk with no idea where he is. We're in New York for Pete's sake! Da greatest 'melting pot' in da world! Anyone fits in here."

"Yep, no questions asked," Les added. "My ancestors came over from Belgium with nothing, Davey says. Look at us now! You'll be fine Boots, you always are." The African American boy smiled in spite of his tears and wiped his eyes. "Thanks guys, dat's just watt Isa needed. C'mon, let's go find something else ta do. We still got da day ta ourselves, an' Snipeshooter's birthday ain't forever!"

All three boys grinned and took off down the street.

**Ok, I know that was short, (not to mention I specialize only in Brooklyn) but since it's February and Black History Month I thought I'd do something with Boots. He's one of my favorite newsies anyways (after Spot). Review and Favorite if you like!**


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